


A Man Without Honor

by Mare9548



Series: Against All Odds [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Heavy Angst, I'm rewriting history here, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon, Rhaegar survives the trident but not for long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24924298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mare9548/pseuds/Mare9548
Summary: Jaime becomes The Kingslayer.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Against All Odds [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722499
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	A Man Without Honor

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Un Hombre Sin Honor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24924649) by [Mare9548](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mare9548/pseuds/Mare9548)



> Hello, sweetlings!
> 
> Here I bring you another piece to the puzzle. If I had written the story of this 'verse in order and not how I'm actually doing it (going back and forth in the timeline), this would've been the first chapter, most likely. Sorry to say there's no Brienne on this one (next time, I promise). However, there's a lot of angst, too much, I would say. Everything it happens here will eventually prompt the arranged marriage between Jaime and Brienne.
> 
> I had predicted this one-shot to be no longer than 2000 words but, as usual, I forgot my bad habit of letting myself carry away. As you can see in the preface, it's over 7k long. I hope you enjoy long chapters.
> 
> For a one-shot, this has too many active characters, some more than others. I enjoyed immensely writing some of them, especially Rhaegar.
> 
> Before I leave you to read, I should tell you that everything in Westeros' history before the battle of the Trident stays the same. It's in that battle that I start making some changes. Obviously, those changes alter canon slightly. Some events will come to pass regardless while others go through a different direction. Hopefully, you'll like what I've changed.
> 
> And now, without further ado, I'll let you read. Enjoy!

Sunbeams streaming through the high narrow windows ricochet off the gold armor that Jaime wears and make it glitter magnificently. The helmet fashioned in the shape of a lion's head hides his tormented yet determined expression. He's ending the madness, and he will do it now. Jaime is out of options. 

King Aerys bolts up to the Iron Throne as Jaime's murderous intent becomes unmistakable. Pouncing at him like a lion after its prey, Jaime stabs the Mad King in the back and drags him bodily off the steps while Aerys squeals like a pig and soils his breeches like a craven.

The sharp edge of his gilded sword slices the king's throat effortlessly, ending thus the deranged existence of a madman. Blood, as red as the one of any peasant, sprays from the wound, staining Jaime's white cloak. Spasmodic wet gurgles fill the air as Aerys chokes on his own blood, struggling to take his last breaths before meeting with The Stranger.

_ So easy. A king should die harder than this. _

Jaime drops the dead body to the floor and reconciles what he just did. He committed regicide and, if anyone finds out, he will be executed for it. Against everything he believes, he has broken his oath as a Sworn Brother of The Kingsguard to protect his king's life and, yet, the remorse for his actions is not as much as it should be. Jaime has forsaken a vow to uphold another— to protect the innocent. 

By killing his king, Jamie saved thousands of citizens in King's Landing from burning to death. By taking the life of a crazy man, half a million people will live. It seems a fair bargain for him.

Before survival instinct spurs Jaime to flee the scene, the tall oak-and-bronze doors of the throne room fly wide open. Prince Rhaegar strides in, wearing his distinctive armor of gleaming black plate with the three-headed dragon of his House wrought in rubies on the breast. Three of his personal guards are hot at his heels, one of them is Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard. 

Jaime stares dumbstruck at the prince that for a fortnight he thought was a ghost. Word has it that he was killed on The Trident. Jaime's sword slips from his fingers and clatters on the floor as he staggers back, his eyes flicker to the corpse on the floor.  _ What if Aerys comes back from the dead as well? _ The thought is enough to chill Jaime to the core.

"M-my Prince," he stammers, between a respectful acknowledgment and a question.  _ How can he be alive? _

"What is the meaning of this?! Father!"

If something says the fury and pain in Prince— no, not Prince,  _ King _ Rhaegar's eyes and tone is that nothing will save Jaime now. Rhaegar has not the madness of the dead king, so mayhap he will be kind enough to behead Jaime instead of burning him alive as Aerys would have done. It's only a small comfort.

The new king kneels by the old one, no doubt hoping to find a sliver of life in his father. He finds none.

"What have you done, Lannister?!" Rhaegar demands as he gets on his feet. His face hardens while he glares at Jaime, freezing into a furious mask. He transforms into an angry dragon.

Jaime is as brave as he's reckless. "Isn't it obvious, Your Grace? Might be not difficult to deduce. The king is dead on the floor… my sword, stained with his blood," he quips carelessly. What else could he say when he has been caught with his sword dripping royal blood and standing over the body? King Aerys' cadaver is still warm and blood pours out of his slit throat. There's no intruder to blame. There's only him.

When Jaime chose to take Aerys' life, it didn't escape him that most likely it'd be at the cost of his own. He came to terms with that, throwing every caution out of the window.

King Rhaegar doesn't appreciate his cheekiness and lunges for him, not like a dragon as Targaryens had claimed to be for centuries but as a bull. Jamie hits the floor with the king straddling his waist, the impact knocks the air from his lungs, and he grunts. The steps up to the throne dig into the backplate of his cuirass and the backside of his legs. Rhaegar yanks Jaime's helmet off and punches him on the face repeatedly. Making no effort to defend himself, Jaime takes the beating that certainly is warranted.

It seems that the new king wants to kill Jaime with the raw strength of his fists. Using a sword to end his life seems too merciful. Jaime can't fault him for that. If Tywin was murdered and Jaime caught who did it in the act, probably, he would do the same. Despite Aerys' madness or Tywin's refined ruthlessness, both Rhaegar and Jaime owe their lives to their fathers.

Jaime tastes the metallic tang of his own blood as the king pounds his jaw and nose, breaking bones and loosening teeth. The audience watching Rhaegar beating him to a pulp grows with each passing minute, but Jaime can't bring himself to care, wallowing in pain and guilt.

The punching stops as abruptly as it started when the horrified voice of now Queen Elia echoes above the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

"Oh, Gods! Rhaegar? Rhaegar!"

Panting and bleeding, Jaime lays still on the steps as King Rhaegar draws himself off him to his full height and turns his back on him. Jaime doesn't dare to move an inch, fully aware that even the slightest gesture from his part will be perceived as a threat. A score of soldiers in the room will cut him into pieces before he can even sit up.

"Take him away!" 

Four guards step forward, following King Rhaegar's snarl, and seize him. Without ceremony, he's removed from the throne room, taken across the middle bailey, and down on the serpentine steps. Jaime knows exactly where they're heading, the dungeons. He has walked the same stones at the other side of the coin many times in the last two years. Too many times to tell the truth.

Even with one eye completely swollen shut, Jaime can see his guards' contempt and judgment directed at him as he's escorted through the yards. They saw what he did and reckoned him guilty. Nobody asks him why he broke his oath. No one thinks he could have a principled reason for it.

It stings more than Jaime could've ever thought. Especially from Ser Barristan, his fellow Sworn Brother, who knows like him the extent of the cruelty of Aerys II Targaryen. For years, both were silent witnesses of the descent into madness of their king.

The group escorting him go through an entrance located between the barracks of the Golden Cloaks and the White Sword Tower, pausing in a chamber not far in.

"This should've never belonged to you," Ser Barristan hisses angrily at him as he takes the bloodstained white cloak off Jamie's shoulders. 

_ Hard to deny that. _ Jaime never imagined that the honor to belong to the Kingsguard came with such a high price.  _ But I'd do it again. Without hesitation _ . For Tyrion, he's capable of doing any sacrifice. Taking the white was the only way Jaime found to stop his father from sending his little brother to The Wall.

Jaime's ruminations from the past are jarred away as the guards finish stripping the armor off of him, leaving Jaime only in his tunic, breeches, and boots. Then, they drag him three levels down in the dungeons to a cell.

"You'll burn in the seven hells as the traitor that you are," one of the guards spews out contemptuously, shoving Jaime inside a black cell. 

The first thing that hits Jaime as stumbles inside is the fetid smell of urine that makes him gag. Then, it comes the darkness. Jaime is unable to stop the shiver that racks his body as the 4-inch-thick cell door is locked behind him with a deafening clank. It rattles him to the bones. 

Standing there in stygian solitude while the cold sets in, the burden of his actions weighs Jaime down. Everything he just went through, the daily events he experienced since he was sworn into the Kingsguard crash down on him, all at once. The load is staggering. Blindly, Jaime staggers to the opposite side of the cell, leans on the damp stone wall, and lets himself slide to the floor.

Beyond his control, tears and body-wracking sobs come to him. Like the sun rising on the east every morning, he cannot stop them. Jaime tucks his legs to his chest, curling himself into a ball, covers his head with his arms, and weeps as he has never done before. Surrounded by pressing darkness, Jaime cannot determine the pass of time. He doesn't know for how long he pours out the anguish in his soul, only that it takes much more than anyone would believe. Eventually, his sobs stop and his tears dry out. 

It's then when silly, ridiculous thoughts find their way into his mind. A burst of hysterical laughter bubbles out of him, contemplating what the future will hold. Not for him because his execution is certain. He will die soon.

His thoughts are on the line of his unintended accomplishment: summoning Tywin to take a side in the war. Neither Aerys nor the rebels can claim such a feat. Jaime is convinced that his father will call the West to arms the moment he hears about his arrest and coming execution. Not because Tywin bears love for his eldest son but because he'll take it as a personal insult.

If Eddard Stark is as capable of waging a war for the love for his father and brother and avenging their deaths as Robert Baratheon is for the affections of his betrothed and demanding reparations for her abduction, Tywin is prepared to do the same for his vanity. Rhaegar better be prepared for the furious charge of a proud lion.

Jaime is uncertain how much time passes but, much sooner than he expects, the guards return to his cell; he believes that it's to take him to face the King's Justice.  _ I should be grateful that they won't leave me here rotting for an eternity before chopping my head off. So considerate of them.  _ Painfully blinded by the light cast by a torch that a guard slides into a sconce on the wall, it takes Jaime a moment to notice that Rhaegar is among them. He scrambles to his feet with a groan, a vehement protest when he becomes acutely aware of every bruise in his body.

"Your Grace. To what do I owe the honor of your presence in these fine accommodations?" Jaime sweeps his arm through the air, gesturing with indifference to the moldy, stinky cell as if it's the chambers befitting a king. Every word said equals a throb in his severely bruised jaw. It's a miracle that he can talk at all.

Rhaegar ignores his remark. He speaks to the other men that are hovering at the door, "Leave us."

All the guards vacate the cell, except one.

"Pardon me, Your Grace, but I think it'd be better if I stay—"

Rhaegar turns to see Ser Barristan and interrupts the protest, "I'll be alright. I need to speak with Jaime. Alone." His iron tone even though it's low, brokers no arguments.

Clearly unhappy about it, Ser Barristan heeds his new king and walks out of the cell. Although not before he throws a warning look at Jaime. It promises the seven hells if Jaime tries anything against the king. Caring naught for the pain the movement provokes on him, Jaime simpers with arrogance. He gets the desired effect, Barristan clenches his teeth, incensed.

Finally alone, Rhaegar turns his purple gaze on Jaime. The smile melts away from Jaime's lips, chilling dread scurrying down his spine. He is nonplussed by the composure Rhaegar exudes. If anything, Jaime would expect a reminiscent of the furious man that beat him to the pulp not long ago.

Instead, Rhaegar looks sorrowful and weary. "Why?" he asks.

Jaime frowns. "Why? Why what? Why is the sky blue? There was a kitchen maid in Casterly Rock that used to say it's because that's the eye color of The Maiden. It sounds like a fishwife's tale to me, but who knows."

Rhaegar groans impatiently. "Why did you kill my father? Why would you forsake your oath and take his life?"

Anger breaks through the king's voice and makes Jaime hold his tongue.  _ He's not as coolheaded as he wants to let on.  _ Making japes won't do him any good. Jaime presses his lips shut and says nothing. Even if he could say why he killed the king, Rhaegar won't believe him regardless. 

"Answer me." 

The demand booms in the small cell, Rhaegar gaze with probing intensity into Jaime's eyes —well,  _ eye,  _ in singular. His left eye is completely swollen shut. On his end, Jaime fights the instinct to squirm in his skin under the scrutiny. He holds his gaze steady, though. 

There's a sudden shift in the king's stare, a light of wisdom flashes in his eyes. The change unsettles Jaime. Rhaegar lets out a sigh.

"You won't tell me? Mayhap I can assist you to refresh your memory." 

_ Where is he going with this? Is he toying with me?  _ Jaime watches Rhaegar pace back and forth before him. The path is of merely a few steps from one end to the other, the cell's dimensions allow nothing more.

"Not much after you were brought to this cell, I had a conversation with the Master of Whispers. I've never liked how my father relied so much on the information that Varys provided for him, especially assuming correctly that the man has his own agenda for whatever he shares or withholds. And yet, Varys came to me with an interesting tale of what has been happening here while I was away, campaigning against the rebels."

Dread makes his throat constrict, and the noticeable lump in his throat bobs up and down as Jaime swallows hard. The Master of Whispers has spies everywhere, his little spiders, and they can uncover even the best-kept secrets in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. Could have any of them learned the location of the caches of Wildfire littered under the city? Did Varys figure out Aerys' plan to burn King's Landing to the ground and did nothing?

"It strikes me odd that besides Father you also killed Lord Hand Rossart. Because it was your doing, wasn't it?"

"What if it was?" Jaime defies. 

Rhaegar hums noncommittally. "So, you killed him as well, my father's favorite pyromancer no less, and who, according to Varys, had spent an exceedingly large amount of time with the king these last few sennights, even before being appointed as the King's Hand. They were working on something secret, even to the rest of the Small Council. Odder still is that Rossart at the time that met the edge of your sword was dressed as a common man-at-arms as if he were to defend the Red Keep himself. Undoubtedly strange since I doubt the man knew how to grip a sword properly. Do you know why he was wearing such attire?"

"Only The Seven knows," Jaime shrugs, the lie comes easily to his tongue. "Lord Hand had bizarre ideas. He was freakish. Mayhap he fancied to reminisce what it was like to be a lowborn for a day, he missed his humble beginnings. An idiotic thing to do if you ask me. Who would want to live a simple life with the sole worry of getting through the day?"

"Who would, indeed."

Jaime has to smirk at Rhaegar for echoing his own sardonic tone. It comes not as a surprise that the new king longs for a simpler life, away from war, from political schemes, and family duty. The game of thrones is brutal, and only the wise ones don't want to play it. Sometimes, though, your hand is forced into it.

"You might be right. He was a shitty freak, and I doubt that anyone will miss him." Rhaeger pauses his pacing in front of Jaime and looks at him. "But what if Rossart wanted to pass unnoticed in the city while performing a delicate errand for my father? It would be sensible to be one more in the crowd."

Rhaegar intensifies his stare into Jaime's good eye. Jaime's heart rate increases with every word that the king speaks. "Surely, handling dangerous  _ substances _ should be done only by experts."

_ Stranger, take me now. He knows… or at least he has a very educated guess. _

"I'll ask again and I want the truth, Jaime. You should know what was asked of Rossart. You were there with them in duty, guarding the king the entire time. Did you kill my father and Rossart because of what they were plotting?"

Jaime chokes with the truth, wanting to get out, but he holds it down. He broke an oath today, he doesn't want to fail in keeping another. Standing as tall as he can and lifting his battered chin up, he says, "I protect the secrets of my king."

Rhaegar steps closer to him, leaving scarcely a distance between them, and it takes everything to Jaime to keep his ground. Being slightly shorter, Jaime is forced to lift his gaze at the king.

" _ I _ am your king now and I'm ordering you to tell me! We're alone in here, nobody else needs to know."

The compulsion to obey his king proves too much to Jaime. He averts his eye from Rhaegar and condemns himself with another broken vow. "Yes," he says in a strangled breath.

It's not a good enough answer. "Tell me why," Rhaegar demands mercilessly. It's when it dawns on Jaime that the king needs to hear the words. The chance for Rhaegar to have a remote hope that whatever he believes Aerys meant to do is a misinterpretation or a lie is valid.

Swallowing hard, Jaime lets the words escape his mouth. Once he starts, there's no stopping them. He tells Rhaegar how Aerys commanded his pyromancers to hide caches of Wildfire throughout the city with the utmost discretion. Only the high-ranked master alchemists were given the task with Rossart, Garigus, and Belis as the leaders. The acolytes were deemed untrustworthy to help them. 

They placed the deadly substance beneath Baelor’s Sept and the hovels of Flea Bottom, at the city's seven gates, under every building they could, even in the cellars of the Red Keep itself. 

"Word that you'd died in The Trident arrived at court," Jaime continues.

"Almost did," Rhaegar interjects. 

At the revelation, Jaime returns his gaze to Rhaegar and notices as, absent-mindedly, the king places a hand on his breastplate and winces.  _ He's injured _ . Jaime can't say how bad but, considering that the man rode to King's Landing and is standing in front of him, not to mention that he gave Jaime a proper beat-up earlier, it can't be that bad.

"Shall we say that it's preposterous of my person to have expected the king receiving the news well, isn't it?"

_ That's the understatement of the ages. _ Jaime snorts. "Indeed it is. He did not. His behavior became even more unreasonably distrustful and volatile after that. The king sent the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. I had expected him to do the same with Princess Elia but he forbade it.

"Somehow His Grace got the idea that Prince Lewyn betrayed you on the Trident, but he thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Princess Elia and little Aegon close," as Jaime says this, Rhaegar's face hardens with a mix of fury and regret. The former Jaime believes is directed at the dead king while the latter is aimed at himself. Rhaegar is finding out how close he was to lose his wife and children.

"The rebel army was bound to come South, the king knew that much, so when the news that a small contingent of the crown's army was nearing the Iron Gate…" Jaime hesitates, thinking how mistaken they all had been. "…I must confess that not your father alone was who believed it a hoax."

"You thought it was Robert's army trying to impersonate my men." Rather than a question, it's a statement, but Jaime answers anyway, "Yes. With the news of your supposed death, it wasn't such a so far-fetched idea. I was there when His Grace gave the order to Rossart.  _ The traitors want my city _ , he said. _ I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat _ . An order that Rossart was more than eager to comply with." Jaime can see with his mind's eye the king's crazed expression and the gleeful shine in Rossart's gaze. 

" _ Burn them. Burn them all _ , your father kept saying. It fell to me to hold the Red Keep, but I knew what was about to happen. I knew that King's Landing would be leveled, that thousands of innocent people would perish if Rossart wasn't stopped. I found him when he was hurrying to a postern gate. I slew him first. Then I— I went to the throne room and killed the king before he could find someone else to carry his message to the pyromancers."

Somewhere in his tale, Jaime lost the focus of his surroundings. Reliving his day was excruciating but, by some measure, he felt lighter. As if while confessing to Rhaegar he had transferred the weight of truth off his shoulders. Jaime is surprised to feel tears streaming down his face. He thought he had spent them all earlier, but apparently not. Furiously, he wipes them off, embarrassed by his lacking control of emotions.

Rhaegar doesn't look any better than how Jaime feels. His face contorts with an array of emotions that go from enraged disbelief to stubborn denial until it's settled in painful acceptance. When the king's eyes meet Jaime's gaze again, they bear awe and sympathy. Those are hardly the things that Jaime expects to find.

Neither is the apology that Rhaegar offers, "I'm sorry, Jaime."

With a bewildered tone, he breathes, "Why?"

"For too many things. For having neglected my duty to the realm, favoring my own needs before my people's. I wasn't blind to my father's madness, I knew he was not fit to rule, and yet, I chose to believe that removing him from the throne could wait. I chose to live an idyllic life while he pulled the realm apart. I'm most sorry for letting fall over your young shoulders a responsibility that was mine. I'm sorry that I thought the worst of you when I first walked in the throne room and saw you there with my father dead at your feet."

"You were right to think it, Your Grace. I swore to protect the king but kill him anyway. I threw my honor out of the window. I broke my oath."

Rhaegar's heavy hand falls on Jaime's shoulder and squeezes almost painfully. "You're the most honorable knight I've ever met, Ser Jaime. Never doubt it. You're a hero. You saved the city! I wish my father had found a better end because, despite all the wrong things he did, I loved him. His death falls on me, not on you. I'm thinking that in a way you saved him as well, from himself, before he committed his worst atrocity yet."

"I— I don't—" Jaime flounders, hardly knowing what to say, incredulous about how Rhaegar, who should hate him with every fiber of his being, praises him so.

"Rest assured that you'll receive The Crown's pardon for what you did. I'll tell the guards to release you and urge Ser Barristan to reinstate you in your post in The Kingsguard."

"Would you trust me to guard your life… after what I did?" Jaime asks, horrified.

"Yes," Rhaegar says fiercely. "I take comfort in the knowledge that if the day should ever come —I promise that it won't— you'll do the right thing if I lose my way in my reign. I have you to protect the people. In fact, I have a mission for you. I want you to escort Elia and the children back to Dorne. Right now, I trust nobody but you to see for their safety."

Humbled and confused, Jaime swears, "I'll protect them with my life."

Both he and Rhaegar turn to look at the door when frantic steps echo in the outside hallway. The door opens to reveal a guard. "Your Grace, the rebel army is here. They're breaking in through the Dragon and King's Gates."

Rhaegar sighs. "Of course they are."

"Robert," Jaime mutters.

"No, Stannis. I killed Robert in The Trident," Rhaegar corrects him. His expression gets speculative and grim. "Suppose that Lord Stark is with him."

"And the lions are at the Gate of the Gods," the guard supplies.

"My father?" _ What in the seven hells is he doing here?  _ It has passed mere hours since Jaime was arrested, there hasn't been enough time for the news to have reached Casterly Rock, much less for his father to assemble the banners and march east to the capital. That would take over a fortnight. If Tywin is here it's not to rescue Jaime. He had to be on the march for half a moon already when Jaime killed Aerys.  _ Why would he join the war now? That's not like him. Father wouldn't choose a side unless victory is assured.  _ Jaime looks at Rhaegar and his mind makes a conclusion. 

Most likely, Tywin received the news of Rhaegar being slain in battle and he thought that the loyalist army would disperse without its leader. Tywin thought the rebels had the victory on their hands.  _ Oh, Father, a rude awakening awaits you. _

Rhaegar approaches the guard. "Lift Meagor's drawbridge. Send reinforcements to each gate and man up the battlements. Find out at which gate Stark is and report back immediately."

"Yes, Your Grace." The guard bows curtly and sprints away.

"Stark? What do you want with him?"

"If he bends the knee, the rebels will lose a leader and strength without the Northmen. There might not be bloodshed today."

A naïve thought, in Jaime's opinion. If his father has joined the fray that means the rebel army has easily more than ten thousand new war-hungry, able men to compensate for the loss of the remaining battle-weary Stark forces. Tywin would replace Stark as a leader. Besides, damned honorably loyal Ned… "He won't do that." 

"He might when he knows that the legitimate heir to the throne is his kin."

_ What? That's madness. Elia is from Dorne, not The North. She's a Martell, not a Stark, so her little son has nothing to do with Eddard. _

Before Jaime can question Rhaegar's declaration, Ser Barristan reaches the door. "Come, Your Grace. They're sacking the city. They're using the tunnels to reach the keep."

"Fucking rebels!"

Faint noises of a breaking fight above ground reach the bowels of the dungeons. Rhaegar rushes away, unsheathing his sword as he goes. Jaime steps forward, wanting to go after him to help to protect the castle, to protect the life of his new king, but Ser Barristan closes the door in his face. 

The battle sounds are drowned by Jaime's shouts asking to let him out. His hands go bloody hammering against the impenetrable door and his voice goes hoarse. He yells and yells but nobody, not a gaoler, nor the turnkey, nor a guard come for a while. 

Time passes and the torch that the guards had left behind when Rhaegar came consumes slowly. When Jaime thinks he'll stay there forever, losing his mind with worry about what's happening outside, someone hears his yells. The door opens, a man dressed with the Lannister colors stands before him. Far from welcoming, the sight fills Jaime with dread.  _ Does this mean that the rebels have seized the keep _ ? The prospect horrifies him. 

The man recognizes him, which makes it easier for Jaime to ask a single question. He receives a likewise simple answer, confirming his worst fear. Having no more use for him, Jaime overpowers his rescuer, taking the sword out of his hand before throwing him inside the cell. Wishing to have his armor on, Jaime leaves the dungeons. Along the way, he witnesses the gory mess that his father's men along with the rest of the rebels have left in their wake.

It gets even worse when he darts out to the surface. Jaime is sickened by the sight in the lower bailey. The battle here must have been fierce, resulting in a sea of Golden Cloaks lying dead on the yard's ground, men that he knew in the last few years drowned in pools of their own blood. 

But the worst is when the air fills with cheers of the rebels after someone shouted that Rhaegar is dead. The news is like a physical blow to his stomach that leaves Jaime winded.  _ I failed him. I failed him and now he's dead. _

Jaime's time to grieve is scarce. From the corner of his eye, an unmistakable giant shadow catches his attention. Ser Gregor Clegane, better known as The Mountain That Rides, climbs the walls of Maegor's Holdfast along with another man, who looks vaguely familiar to Jaime. It doesn't matter who he is. The only thing that matters is that they're ascending on the side where the royal apartments are located.  _ The queen! The children! _

Rhaegar's voice echoes in the back of Jaime's mind.  _ I trust nobody but you to see for their safety _ . 

Spurred by the need to keep at least the last vow he made to Rhaegar, Jaime races inside the fortress. The mountain has a good head start and Jaime won't catch him up, going up the wall like a spider. He runs along passageways and takes the steps of the stairs in two and three at the time, his heart hammering inside his chest while his leg muscles strain to the point of pain to carry him to where he needs to go.

He's taking the last steps to the floor where the nursery is located when he hears the scream of a woman followed by the cry of a babe. It chills his blood.  _ I'm too late _ . He runs faster than ever and goes through the open doors of the room. In that instant, two guards that were protecting the queen die at the hands of Ser Gregor and Amory Lorch; at last, Jamie recognizes the second man as one of his father's bannermen. They advance toward the queen. Elia, fear-stricken, clutches her wailing infant son to her chest, stepping backward until she's cornered. She begs for their lives in vain.

Jaime rushes forward and places himself between the men and Elia as a protective shield. The Mountain growls, vexed by his unexpected appearance, while Lorch sneers at him, "We're following your father's orders. All the dragonspawns must be slaughtered. So is the whore."

Jaime ignores Elia's whimper of despair at his back. "Over my dead body," he retorts with deadly intensity, gripping his sword tightly and assuming a fighting stance. 

Hesitation clouds Lorch's gaze for a moment. Jaime's reputation as the best swordsman in Westeros is well-known. Lorch is no match for Jaime and he knows it. Neither is attractive to kill the "beloved" son of his lord liege. Crossing Tywin in such a manner is courting with death.

On the other hand, The Mountain has no such reservations. He quirks his lips with amusement. He's one of the few men that can best Jaime in battle, not based on skill but rather on raw strength, especially since Jaime lacks the protection of armor.

Without taking the gaze off the men, Jaime instructs Elia, "Your Grace, take the princess Rhaenys and go! I'll hold them off."

Elia hastens to comply but Lorch mimics her move, and she steps back.

"Go!" Jaime insists.

She does this time but doesn't go far. As she reaches the door, the screams of the frightened princess slip in the room.

"Mama! Mama!"

The little princess, barefoot and in her sleeping garments, comes running to her mother with her face stained with tears. Jaime shifts his position to provide them better protection. He detests the sanguine thirst visible in Ser Gregor's eyes, looking at his quarry.

_ Even if you kill me, I'll make sure you won't be able to harm them. Ever. _

"Ser Jamie," Elia calls behind him.

"Get going," he advises, ignoring the fear in her voice.

"Ser Jaime," she insists. "Look! Behind you!"

He doesn't want to tear his eyes from The Mountain and Lorch lest not give them the chance to attack, but both of their expressions sour while looking at something past Jaime and Elia. That made Jaime peer back.

A group of about twenty armed men, wearing boiled leather armor and whitish gray cloaks approach with Ned Stark in the lead. Jaime has never been more relieved to see the man in his life. Unbeknownst to him, Eddard just gave Jaime the edge to keep the queen and her children safe.  _ Thank you, Mother. Thank you for letting me protect the innocent in your name. _

Never has been love between Ned and the Lannisters. The wolf has always judged the lion. Stark has an exasperating, righteous sense of honor and he's stubbornly judgmental, but one thing is certain, he won't allow harm to come to innocent women and children if he can help it.

"Stand down, Lannister! It's over!" 

_ There it is, the loathing tone that's reserved only for the lions. _

With a tilt of his head, Jaime urges the queen to scoot over a recess near the door so he can stand between her, the children, and both opposite threats. Jaime's greatly outnumbered, twenty-five to one are odds that not even he can overcome easily. In truth, he only worries about the two men at his right flank. Stark's men on his left won't do anything rash without the word of his lord liege.

Jaime spares a glance at Ned and says, "My quarrel is not with you, Lord Stark. I'm only protecting my queen. I'll kill anyone who wants to harm her."

When Ned reaches the door and peers inside, understanding clouds his face. Jaime lifts an eyebrow at him. Stark nods curtly and says, "Let your arms down and I'll guarantee her safety."

"On your honor?"

Ned glares at him, undoubtedly incensed by Jaime putting his word to test.  _ I would be a fool if I didn't take advantage of that sense of honor of yours! _

"On my honor," Stark hisses.

Jaime relaxes his stance but keeps holding his sword in his hand downwards. 

"Greatjon, Galbart, escort Princess Elia to the next door. Guard her as she was the lady of Winterfell."

_ It's  _ Queen _ Elia, you dolt. Queen Mother, in fact.  _ Jaime guesses that it doesn't matter now. The infant in Elia's arms will never rise to power. There should be a new king sitting in the Iron Throne by now; King Stannis, probably. 

Jaime steps aside and nods to Elia. "You'll be safe with  _ them _ ," his inflection letting her know she must trust nobody else. 

"Won't you come with us?" Elia asks, obviously having faith in no one but Jaime. He flickers his gaze to Ned and reads the man's thoughts. "Not right now, Your Grace. There are some… issues I must attend to. Lord Stark's men will protect you as I would."

Or that's what Jaime hopes. At this point, things are out of his control. Without much of a choice, Elia walks past him, worry and fear etched in her face. The shrill little voice of Princess Rhaenys surprises all when she wails, extricating herself from her mother's grasp, "Mama! Need to find Balerion! He'll be scared!"

She runs off.

"Rhaenys, no!"

The men cut her way, and she looks up with wide, frightening eyes.

Stark and his men are at a loss, not knowing to whom the girl refers to, but Jaime does. She's talking about her black kitten.

Unimpressed by their reaction to a 3-year-old's tantrum and taking pity for the poor child that without a question is having a horrible day, Jaime kneels by her and says softly, "Go with your mother, princess. Let me look for the kitten in your stead. If I find Balerion, I'll send him to you, alright? But you need to stay with your mother and do what she tells you. Can you do that?"

_ For your safety, say yes, child. _

The adorable girl with dark ringlets and warm brown eyes bobs her head in affirmative. A sweet smile spread on her olive-toned face. "Thank you, Ser Jaime."

"My pleasure."

As Jaime straightens himself, his eyes catch the grateful gaze in Elia's eyes. He tips his head in acknowledgment.

Once Elia and her children are secured in a room down the hallway, Stark's men in guard outside the door, Ned turns to Jamie. 

"Time to go." 

"Not without them," Jaime looks pointedly at The Mountain and Lorch. "After you, Sers."

There's a tense moment when Jaime believes his father's men are going to refuse, but after a contest of hateful gazes among all of them, Lorch is the first to move. His disappointment with his mission not accomplished is evident. Ser Gregor's ire is greater still. When he passes by Jaime, the monster of a man bumps him in the shoulder. Although Jaime holds himself steady on his feet, he knows that he'll have another bruise to nurse later.  _ As if I didn't have enough already. _

As they exit Maegor's Holdfast, Ned Stark orders his men to make guard and let no one but him enter the premises. 

Intuitively, Jaime's feet take him to the throne room, Stark walks in beside him. The number of commanders assembled there doesn't surprise Jaime. As expected, Tywin is present as well. His father's gaze flickers to Ser Gregor, a silent question. Jaime fights a smug smirk that tries to bloom on his lips when Tywin scowls at the barely perceivable negative from the Mountain. 

_ That's right, Father. You don't have a gift with which to ingratiate yourself with the new king. No doubt he would be happy to have no potential heirs that could contest his reign. You almost gave him that. _

The said king sits on the throne.  _ I knew it would be him. _ Stannis Baratheon looks down at everyone from atop the dais where the Iron Throne rests. To the left behind the throne, stands the only woman in the room. She's tall and beautiful, with deep burnished copper hair, unsettling red eyes, and unblemished skin. A robe of scarlet satin clings to her slender figure while a red choker with a ruby adorns her neck.

If his situation wasn't so dire, Jaime might have paid her more attention. Yet, his focus sets on a group of royalists kneeling at the bottom of the stairs, they must have yielded and their lives were spared. Now, they wait to know what will be their fate. Most likely, Jaime will share the same future. It isn't lost to him, that his actual situation is no better than when Rhaegar walked in on him that morning in that same room. 

As if he needs any help to worsen his circumstances, a young man among the captives, one of the Gold Cloaks, breaks from the group and lunges at Jaime. Before the guard reaches him, he's restrained and yanked back.

"Traitor! You're a fucking traitor!"

"What is this?" Stannis demands, getting up from the throne. "Why are you accusing him of treason?"

"Before… you were wondering who slew King Aerys, were you not?" the man spats spitefully, rounding on Stannis. At the king's raised eyebrow, the Gold Cloak points his finger at Jaime, "It was him! He killed the king!" 

The room takes a collective intake of breath at the revelation. Jaime schools his expression to one of indifference but, inwardly, he groans. Foolish of him to think he might not take the blame for it. He's certain that many would be glad to take the feat as their own. 

Every person in the room trains their eyes on him. The gratitude toward Jaime for having ridden the world of a madman who would've had them all killed is rather inconspicuous. In its place, the judgment and the hate come from every angle and finds the bullseye on him. The most piercing stare of all comes from his father. Jaime doesn't need to look at him to know. The heat at the back of his neck is too familiar.

"Is it not what you all came here to achieve, to kill the Mad King?" Jaime says, offhandedly. He can't afford to show his actual feelings, nor how much the deed cost him personally. "Someone had to do it; I volunteered." Holding his good eye to Stannis and using the same arrogant tone, Jaime says, "Apologies, Your Grace, I would've reserved the honor for you if I had known you were on the way to the capital. Deem me properly chastised. Rhaegar was far more galled with me than you are. He found me with the Mad King at my feet, you see."

"And he didn't kill you?"

"Not for the lack of trying." Looking around, Jaime catches the incredulity in the king's voice mirrored in everyone else's face. _Are they dolts?_ _How do they think I got all beat up_? 

Stannis shakes his shock soon enough. His perplexity goes away, and contempt sets in its place. "You've committed treason, indeed. You turned your sword against your king."

"Execute him," says someone in the crowd. "Send him to The Wall," yells another. Several others echo similar requests.

The yells hardly surprise Jaime. He bothers himself not to respond to them other than raising an eyebrow in defiance. At his back, a pair of boots slamming against the floor announces someone breaking from the audience and approaching Jaime.

"Your Grace," Tywin speaks. "My son, his actions aided your cause. Surely, that's worth something."

Hearing his father asking the closest thing to clemency for him makes Jaime's jaw go slack. Surely, he's not hearing right. Tywin begging is not a common thing. Thinking it through, Tywin must have a scheme in the works.  _ Yes, that must be it. _

"It's worth as much as his honor," Ned mutters scathingly. 

Jaime cuts a glare at him. Even when he was witness to the way Jaime protected Elia and the children, the way he yielded peacefully and without unnecessarily shedding a drop of blood, Ned still finds him lacking.  _ Who needs his approval anyway? A lion doesn't concern himself with the opinion of the sheep. _

Tired of everyone's judgment, Jaime steps forward. He glances at the king with a smirk on his lips. "So what’s it to be, Your Grace? Am I heading to bed or to death? Kingslaying is a tiring affair. I think I deserve some rest."

"Shut your mouth!" Tywin hisses behind him.

Before the king gives his sentence, which judging for his facial expression is going to mean Jaime meeting The Stranger soon enough, the woman in red approaches and whispers something in Stannis' ear. The king frowns and asks her something in the same hushed tone, too low for anyone to hear.

Jaime doesn't hear it but he can read her lips when she replies, "I've seen it in the flames."

Whatever that means, it sways Stannins from his decision. He surprises Jaime by saying, "The Crown must consider this matter in length."

There's an uproar in the crowd, upset for Stannis' unwillingness to send him to death. 

Playing himself deaf to the complaints, the king continues, "You're confined to your quarters in the White Sword Tower, you're not allowed to step outside of it without my consent, and you're relieved from your duties as Kingsguard until further notice. Fail to comply with any of these stipulations and you shall be brought before the King's Justice immediately and I shall have your head in a stake."

"So… that means I cannot sunbathe in the mornings or go hunting in the Kingswood?"

Stannis draws his lips into a snarl, "Take him away!"

Three of his men come forward, eager to follow their lord's order. Jaime pivots around and heads to the door of the throne room before the guards get to him, holding his head high. He almost laughed at the irony of repeating the scene of this morning. Then, he deemed it appropriate, now it is a jape at his expense.

A room full of people and no one has asked why he killed Aerys. It had taken a little to Rhaegar to ask the question, but he did eventually. And, most surprisingly, he had fully pardoned Jaime for it. Jaime doubts that it's a fate that will repeat itself, especially because his walk out of the room is full of yells at him, calling him a traitor and kingslayer. They have somebody to point the finger at and that's all that matters to them.

He woke this morning as a revered Sworn Brother of The Kingsguard, and now it's over. He will hold the title of Kingslayer uttered with hatred for many years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I know some of you may be wondering how is Stannis there if he should besiege in Storm's End, right? Well, that's because, as I said in a previous installment, some characters have been aged up, starting with Brienne and including Renly. He is the one sieged in this story. While he stayed at Storm's End, Stannis went along with Robert... and you know what happened then. 
> 
> Balerion, the cat, will be featured in a future one-shot. I'm reading the books for the first time and I freaked out when realized that the cat Arya never catches is Rhaenys' kitten! So I had to have him. I thought to show more of him here but this was too long already, so he'll come back later.


End file.
